Sunday, November 21, 2010

Insanity Runs In The Blood

Husband is the first to admit that I am insane. He deals with the paranoia, depression, anxiety, and general craziness with the fortitude of a man who has faced the fires of Hell and its minions and has never batted an eye. There is nothing he can't handle, from my crying jags to my insane insistance that the people across the street have used cake in order lure in people who they then kill in bathtubs of coleslaw. But last night, even he was unable to deal with this new form of insanity.

For it was not I that was mad.

Oh no.

The culprit this time is our new kitten. For a week she had been a sweet, rational thing made of gray fluff and four paws.

Last night changed all that.

I went to bed, as usual, with the laptop so I could finish up what I was working on in the comfort of my bed. Instead of crawling up next to me and passing out as she's done for the past week, Cinder decided that there was something WRONG.

I was approached by a ball of fur and fury unlike anything I had ever witness. She had her back arched and her tail poofed like a bottle brush, and every movement was a threat. Every sidestepping turn and she was staring at me like I was the shower monster, about to come spray her down with water and kitty shame. I was going to eat her, and she was going to take my ass down.

Sitting in bed, I watched as she leapt over throw pillows and curled in boxes, all in order to plan her attacks. And what exactly did these attacks amount to? Slightly more vicious versions of "OMG, you have TOES!". I was unimpressed.

So she decided to start threatening me by staring at the walls for inordinate amounts of time, and then turning and sprinting out of the room at the highest possible speed, making a noise similar to that of a rhinocerous with a broken leg falling down the steps while running down into the first floor of the house. She then returned, making this a lap of sorts. I swear, she lapped the house a total of 1, 433 times before returning to my room and arching her back again.

Now it was time to avoid the air vent. The air vent is apparently more evil than I am, because she would smoosh into the corner between the bed and the wall where I was and stare at the air vent in the floor, skittering around it like she would drop into New Jersey or the seventh level of Dante's Hell if she stepped on the metal grating. I finally just shook my head and turned off the light to go to sleep.

Reluctant, and obviously exhausted from two hours of kitten rampage, she decided to begrudgingly settle down on the bed with me. Not near my hands nor my vicious maw, mind you, but on the bed. In the morning, she was gone, like an assassin in the night. Or that guy I picked up at a Seven 11 the other week.

Anyway, I have come up with a theory as to why the kitten decided to go absolutely batshit nuts. It's actually quite simple. She's just as crazy as me. I adopted a cat just like me, just as they say people marry people who remind them of themselves. The one I picked waited for me to fall in love with her, and then showed her true colors. Insanity. Kitten insanity.